


Who Wants to Live Forever?

by Theblueeyedvampire



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Challenge Response, EF Reunion Challenge 2017, Episode: s05e02 Just Rewards, F/M, Human Spike (BtVS), Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s07e22 Chosen, Shanshu Prophecy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-10 17:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12304335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theblueeyedvampire/pseuds/Theblueeyedvampire
Summary: Instead of coming back as a ghost from the amulet, Spike comes back… human, in fulfillment of the Shanshu Prophecy. How will he adjust to his new life, and what will he say to a certain blonde Slayer? Written for the Elysian Fields Reunion Challenge 2017.





	1. Alive

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been simmering in my head for a while, and the EF Reunion Challenge seemed a perfect venue to whip my butt into shape and write it. Any resemblance to other reconciliation fics is inadvertent on my part, since I know there are a lot of stories in a similar vein. Hope you enjoy! Fic title is taken from the Queen/Breaking Benjamin song of the same name.

Chapter 1: Alive

Pain. That was all he knew, the only thing that registered on his senses for far longer than he could guess. Years maybe, hundreds of years… nothing but the blazing agony of feeling every cell in his body burn to ash.

After what seemed like eternity, the sensation changed. Instead of shredding into dusty particles, whatever remained of Spike flew back together, a billion motes slamming into one another, knitting themselves back into physical wholeness, into bone and flesh and skin.

And then, in one tumultuous moment, it stopped.

He gasped. The air – slightly stale and smelling of paper and upholstery – felt like beads of ice as it hit his lungs.

“Spike,” said a grudging voice from between clenched teeth.

He staggered backwards from the source of the voice and hit a piece of furniture, a heavyset desk. He gripped the desk to right himself, staring around the room.

Unfamiliar faces peered back at him – a dark-skinned man in a suit, a petite brunette woman, that young Watcher What’s-his-name-Pryce, and a green demon in flamboyant attire.

And Angel, who had spoken his name and now stood glaring as though his dearest wish in the world was that Spike would return to a pillar of smoldering ashes on the spot.

“Wha…” His teeth chattered, preventing words from forming. His entire being felt… strange. Foreign. But he had to ask about Buffy. The others mattered too, of course, Nibblet and the Watcher and the Slayerettes. But Buffy mattered more. He had given his life for hers alone.

“Blondie Bear?” Harmony said from the doorway. “What the hell are you doing here, Spike?”

_Harm is here? Cripes, this has to be hell. Champion’s reward, my arse._

“This is Spike? _The_ Spike?” asked the suit, glancing skeptically from Angel to Harmony.

“Easy, slim, easy,” the green demon said, extending a comforting hand. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

“Speak for yourself, green jeans.”

“You’re dead,” Angel accused, as though it was somehow Spike’s fault that he was not still just specks of detritus in the cavern under the Hellmouth.

Spike tried to speak again, but his throat felt like someone had rammed a nail-embedded club down it, repeatedly, then broken off the club’s end and left it there. There was also an unfamiliar hammering sensation inside his chest.

“W… water…” He managed to rasp. If this _was_ hell, he wasn’t likely to get any, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“He wants water,” said the friendly-faced brunette women, a slight Southern twang to her voice.

“Why water?” scoffed Harmony. “He’s a vampire. Vampires don’t need—”

“Harmony, please, just get him some water,” Watcher Something-Pryce said with a glance at Angel. The elder vampire remained leering jealously at Spike.

Before any of them could act on the Watcher’s instructions, Spike doubled over and coughed violently, hacking up a black, gelatinous substance onto the carpet. The slim woman rushed over with Angel’s desk trash bin in time to catch the second mouthful of sooty slime that Spike vomited up, and then he leaned back against the base of the desk, sweat glittering on his brow, his lungs heaving… but somehow renewed.

“Th-thanks, pet.” He nodded at the young woman. His throat was no less raw, but the blockage was gone, and he could take deeper breaths than he’d done in… years. Odd.

“It’s Fred. Winifred, but my friends call me Fred.” She smiled. She had a comforting sort of face, a kindness that wouldn’t belong in hell, which gave Spike some small relief. “And that’s Charles and Lorne and Wesley.”

“Mind tellin’ me where I am, Fred?” _Please don’t say hell._

“LA, the law office of Wolfram and Hart, to be precise. We run it.”

“Wolf and what?” The name rang a slight bell, enough for him to remember it was evil. No wonder Angel seemed to be in charge.

“Enough,” Angel cut in. “What the hell’s going on, Spike?”

“I don’t know then, do I?” he said. “One minute, I was goin’ out in a blaze of glory, an’ the next I’m spewin’ half my lung onto your area rug.” He wiped the sleeve of his duster across his sweaty forehead.

“Where’d he come from?” asked the suit – Charles, Fred had indicated.

“From this,” said Wesley, picking up the amulet from the floor.

_Of course, that bloody thing_ …

“What’s that?” asked Fred.

“Something I gave to Buffy before—” began Angel.

“Buffy!” Spike gasped. “Is she—?”

“She’s okay,” Angel replied curtly.

“Where… where is she?”

Angel didn’t answer, just pursed his lips in a thin line that made his scowling eyebrows even more broody. He _knew_ and wasn’t telling. The others looked at him, likely wondering why he was withholding the information.

“Wanna see her. Talk to her.” Spike clambered back to his feet, still using the desk for support. His limbs felt strangely weak, and there was still that inexplicable thumping feeling between his ribs. “You can’t keep her from me.”

“She’s not mine to keep. Or yours.”

“Says you!” growled Spike. “You’ve got no idea what we had.”

“You never _had_ her,” Angel sneered.

“More than _you_ , you poncy—”

Harmony’s noise of disgust interrupted them both.

“Oh my god. You and the Slayer actually… I mean, I know you had that twisted obsession with her, but… yecch. That’s just… yecch.”

She stomped out of the office, pausing once to look back at him and let out another, “yecch!” before departing.

“Um… Spike, you’re sweating something awful.” Fred looked to Angel, as though silently asking for some explanation. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“Don’t want to. Where’s Buffy?” He squared off in front of Angel, fuming.

“We’re not letting you anywhere near her until we figure out why you’re here at all,” said Angel.

Wesley was still examining the amulet, turning it over and over in his hands.

“Whatever happened to him, it’s clearly due to this amulet. Do you have a memory of a strange sensation when it released its energy?”

_Are you serious, mate?_

“What? You mean my skin and muscle burning away from the bone? Organs exploding in my chest? Eyeballs melting in their sockets. No, no memory at all. Thanks for asking.”

“Well, last I heard, that thing was buried deep inside of the Hellmouth,” said Angel, grumbling and still scowling. “How did it end up here?”

“Maybe he’s here for a reason,” said Fred encouragingly. “You know, for some higher purpose or something he’s destined for. Sent to us by the Powers That Be to help us, or—”

“Who gave them the bloody right to do that?” Spike demanded. “Can’t a man die in peace without some high almighty deciding it’s not his time? Let’s have a little more fun with him, eh? You think that saving the soddin’ world would be enough to earn me a rest.”

“Whoa, hold on,” said Charles. “Saving the world?”

“Oh, that,” Angel said evasively. “Well… Buffy did most of the work. Well, he _helped_ , but—”

“This is all your fault!” Spike raged. _Stormin’ into MY town, kissin’ MY Slayer, and leavin’ behind rottin’ amulets!_

“Mine?”

“You brought that bloody amulet to Sunnydale. You would have been the one to use it, until you chickened out. You left town in the nick of time, didn’t you, before the death and mayhem? Left me no choice. I don’t give a piss about atonement or destiny. Just because I got me a soul doesn’t mean I’m gonna let myself be led around by—”

Several voices jumped in at the same time.

“Excuse me?” said Fred.

“Spike has a soul?” Wesley asked Angel. “You never said.”

“Didn’t seem worth mentioning, you know. Since he was _dead_.”

“And now he isn’t.” Wesley gave Spike a closer look. A _much_ closer look.

“What?” Angel demanded of Wesley, concern and accusation in his tone. “Wes? I don’t like that look.”

“Um, Angel?” Harmony had reappeared in the office entrance. “Your three o’clock is here.”

“Not now, Harmony.” Angel looked about ready to seize Wesley by the shoulders and shake him up for answers like a bully stealing a smaller kid’s lunch money. “Wes, what is it?”

“I believe it would be prudent to perform a medical exam on Spike,” said Wesley.

“Oi! No bloody way am I gonna sit quiet and let some white-coat poke and prod around my nethers!”

“No, no, nothing like that. A simple test should suffice.” And without preamble, Wesley took hold of Spike’s wrist between his thumb and index finger, as though reading his pulse.

_Exactly_ like reading his pulse.

“What… what the hell are you doing?” Spike asked quietly, though he didn’t pull his hand away.

“Interesting.” Wesley released his hand. “Fred, if you would please confirm.”

She gave the Watcher a quizzical look but held Spike’s hand nevertheless, gripping his wrist in the same manner as Wesley had.

“What?” Angel demanded. “No… absolutely not. There’s no way…”

“To be blunt, my friend, it may appear that the Shanshu Prophecy was not referring to you after all,” Wesley said under his breath.

“The What-Shoe Prophecy?” stammered Spike. “Will somebody tell me what the bloody hell’s going on?”

“It’s… a miracle,” said Fred, staring from Spike’s wrist to his face. She lifted a hand and settled it on his shirt, palm against his chest. “Spike… you have a heartbeat. You’re _alive_.”

_To be continued…_

 


	2. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: I’m a beta-less rebel, so any mistakes are entirely mine. Quotes throughout from Angel s5:ep2 “Just Rewards”.

Chapter 2: Contact

“That’s impossible,” Angel snarled, pacing the length of the office. “Impossible.”

“The Shanshu Prophecy never explicitly stated that _you_ were the vampire with the soul to whom it referred,” said Wesley. “We simply assumed so because up until that point there had never been another vampire with a soul.”

“Will someone please explain what the soddin’ hell is the Shanshu Prophecy?” asked Spike. He had finally consented to removing his leather duster and sitting down so that Fred could continue examining him with the medical supplies she’d had sent up from her lab downstairs. He was no longer sweating like a spent racehorse, at least, and it was a relief to realize that the thumping in his chest was a heartbeat, bizarre as it was. Other human sensations – such as the growling in his stomach – were less pleasant. Perhaps he should ask Harmony to order up some lunch, assuming she took orders from anyone other than Angel.

“The Shanshu Prophecy,” said Wesley, “states that a vampire with a soul will play a pivotal role in an apocalypse, becoming a Champion, and in doing so will earn his humanity, be made mortal once more. Apparently, sacrificing yourself to close the Hellmouth fulfilled that clause.”

_Champion… isn’t that what Buffy said? That the necklace-thingy was meant to be worn by a champion?_

“This isn’t fair!” Angel’s voice had turned distinctly whiny, making Spike smirk. “You _asked_ for a soul! I didn’t! It almost killed me. I spent a hundred years trying to come to terms with infinite remorse! You spent three weeks moaning in a basement, and then you were fine! What’s fair about that?!”

“All’s fair in love and war, mate,” said Spike with a devilish grin. _Wait… how the hell does he know I was cooped up in the school basement for three weeks? The only ones who knew that were Buffy and her closest mates. So… they must have been here, talked to him! … Buffy talked to him about me?_

“You have no idea what I’ve done to earn redemption! One apocalypse and suddenly you’re Vampire of the Year?”

“Well, if you want to get technical ‘bout it, I helped Buffy save the world from _you_ a few years back. Plus two years ago when that hell-goddess was muckin’ about with Buffy’s sister. An’ the year before that those army blokes—”

“Can it, Spike!”

“Fascinating,” said Wesley, addressing Spike. “I presume during all previous apocalypses in which you helped save the world, you were soulless?”

“Yeah,” Spike answered, shrugging.

“Most interesting.”

“You think it was destined for him all along, only he hadn’t met the _soul_ criteria?” asked Charles, looking pleased with himself at the pun.

Angel fumed.

“It would appear to be so,” Wesley nodded. “It’s even possible that the manner in which Spike acquired his soul was crucial in qualifying for the Shanshu Prophecy. That it had to be sought, a willing acquisition.”

“Wait, what?” Angel looked slightly green.

“Think he means your soul doesn’t really count, mate,” said Spike, grinning impishly.

Angel turned to Wesley with an expression of utter betrayal. “You can’t be serious. I’ve… it’s been… _years_ , Wes, and you’ve just now suspected that?”

Wesley shrugged, as if to say, _I don’t make the rules_. Spike chuckled.

“This can’t be happening,” Angel snarled, clenching and unclenching his hands.

“Aw, Crumb Cake, I know you’re disappointed, but there’s a silver lining to everything, you know,” said Lorne, patting his irate boss on the shoulder.

“Lorne, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times! Don’t call me pastries!”

“Angel?” Harmony peeked hesitantly into the office again. “Your three o’clock—”

“In a minute, Harmony.” He hovered behind Fred as though desperately hoping her exam would find something to contradict their assumptions. “Fred, please.”

Fred shrugged, putting down the beeping instrument she’d been using to scan Spike. “As far as I can tell, he’s human. Nothing whacky or mystical showing up on the sensors.”

“Angel—” Harmony began again.

“Not _now_!” bellowed Angel.

“Better see what she’s on about, boss-man,” Spike teased. “Could be important, evil law firm stuff.”

“Little tip, Spike? Try not to talk about things you don’t understand.”

“I understand plenty.” He stood up, despite Fred’s fussing over her instruments. “Made some devil’s bargain to take over this company. Thought you’d use it to fight the evil of the world from inside the belly of the beast. Trouble is you’re too busy fightin’ to see you an’ yours are gettin’ digested.”

At that moment, an enormous horned demon in dirty robes came lumbering past Harmony and into the office, headed straight for Angel.

“Oh my. A Grox’lar Beast,” said Wesley, hastily stepping aside and shepherding Fred and Lorne behind him.

As soon as the creature was within reach, Angel swung a punch at its spiked face. The Grox’lar ignored the blow and struck back, buffeting Angel to the ground. Spike side-stepped the demon and threw a punch to the back of its head. The impact sent a jolt of jarring shock through his whole arm, knuckles scraped open on contact with the demon’s rough hide.

“Ow! Dammit!”

He must have at least rung the Grox’lar Beast’s bell, because the monster ponderously turned around, looking dazed but growling as fiercely as ever.

“Oh, brilliant,” grimaced Spike, raising his fists to defend himself.

By this time, Angel had popped back up from the floor. He looped one arm around the creature’s throat, yanking him off balance. Taking advantage of the beast being pinned, Spike ran for the display case behind Angel’s desk and seized a sword hanging there, pulling it free of the ornate scabbard.

“Hey, hey, wait a sec—” began Charles.

Ignoring the outcry, Spike rushed back into the fray and drove the blade straight below the beast’s ribs – assuming that Grox’lars _had_ ribs – and clean through its torso into something solid behind it.

“Oww!”

Into Angel, apparently.

“Dammit, Spike!”

He detached himself from the sword’s point and shoved the Grox’lar to the ground. For the space of a heartbeat, they all stood looking at the deceased creature on the floor, and then Angel turned furiously to Harmony.

“Somebody want to tell me how a Grox’lar Beast got past security?” he fumed. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Of course not,” smirked Spike, cleaning the sword’s blade on the creature’s already-stained robes. “Man’s got to stay focused on profit margins and power lunches.”

“ _Yeah_ , Spike, I got a business to run. That means responsibilities, appointments to keep.”

“Angel.” Harmony tried once again. “That _was_ your three o’clock.”

Angel blinked down at the Grox’lar body, and Spike bent double with laughter.

“That… I’m meeting with _Grox’lars_?! They eat babies!”

“Only their heads,” said Harmony, shrugging as though that distinction made all the difference. “You were supposed to open negotiations with his clan.”

“Negotiations for _what_?”

“Get ‘em to stop eating baby heads,” said Charles with a sigh. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

“Oh, that’s good. Oh… so this—” Angel glanced down at the body again. “This is bad.”

“No, actually the Grox’lar clan respects someone who takes a strong opening position. Probably should have briefed you about the Grox’lar, but we got a little… sidetracked.” He glanced at Spike as he said it, to which Spike just shrugged as he returned the sword to the wall display. “Plus I’ve been implementing our reforms. Mostly staff overhaul. I’ve fired forty employees in the past two days.”

“Y’know,” cut in Spike, “as much as I’d like to stay and hear all about your grand and noble goals to turn Wolfram an’ Hart to the straight and narrow, I’ve got better things to do. Just tell me where Buffy is and I’ll be on my way.”

Angel’s mouth thinned again.

“Slayer-loving freak,” mumbled Harmony on her way out of the office.

Ignoring her, Spike rounded the desk and stepped over the dead Grox’lar, getting up in Angel’s face – or as much as he could, given the vampire’s height over him.

“Where. Is. Buffy?”

“Spike, is your hand okay?” asked Fred, seeing the injury for the first time. “Looks bad.”

“Don’t think anything’s broken,” Spike answered, offering up his bloodied knuckles for her inspection while he continued glaring at Angel. “Just split m’knuckles. Not as invulnerable as I’m used to. Where’s Buffy?”

“What makes you think she’ll even want you anymore?” Angel glanced down at Spike’s injured hand. “Looks like you may be more of a liability than she needs right now.”

“You hypocritical bastard.”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Angel,” began Wesley, “tell the poor man where—”

“No!”

“Why not?” piped up Fred, putting one hand on her hip.

“Why are you all taking _his_ side?!”

“Doesn’t take a Broadway number to hear what his soul’s singing about,” said Lorne, shrugging. “Practically written on his face.”

That made no sense to Spike, who pulled his hand free from Fred, turned his back on Angel, and stalked back over to the desk.

“S’pose I’ll just call her, then. Mind if I use your phone, Forehead?” _What do I even say if she answers? “‘Lo, Buffy. I’m not dead. Surprise.”_

“Don’t bother,” Angel growled. “Her home number won’t work. The whole town collapsed into the Hellmouth. There’s nothing left but a crater.”

Spike slowly returned the phone to its cradle, glancing anxiously at everyone in the group in turn. _My god… did they make it? Who didn’t make it?!_

“What aren’t you tellin’ me? How long has it been?”

“Nineteen days.”

_Not even three weeks! Can’t have gone far. And some of the Slayerettes must have been injured. Should I go ‘round to all the hospitals, ask if they’ve had a whole troupe of teenage girls with mystery wounds?_

“Um… Mr. Angel, sir?” In the office doorway was a frazzled-looking man in a spotted yellow tie and rather large eyebrows. “Novac. What’s this about you shutting down the Internment Acquisitions Department?”

Angel stared blankly at the man for a moment before glancing over his shoulder at Charles. “Internment…”

“Grave-robbing,” Charles translated.

“Right. Gunn, your office. Come on, Novac.”

“Oi!” Spike headed him off. “Can’t just walk away. I asked you a question!”

“I’m going to a meeting, Spike,” Angel growled, gesturing at poor Novac as the yellow-tied man scrambled after Charles to the office next door.

“Oh.” Spike took on a falsely repentant tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t care.”

“I’ll deal with you later. Stay put and don’t touch anything.” Still seething, he stormed past.

“Get stuffed!” Spike called after him as the office door slammed. In desperation, he turned to the others remaining in the room, to Fred, Lorne, and Wesley.

“You know where they are.”

Their quick glances at each other gave it away. Before he could plead again, Fred crossed to Angel’s desk and picked up the phone.

“I, um, I have Willow’s cell phone number. I can… call them. Let them know you’re here.”

“You’re a god-send, little Fred. Please?”

She nodded, searched in her purse for her address book, flipped through its pages, and then dialed.

“I’ll make sure Angel Cakes is busy for a few minutes, buy you some time,” said Lorne, grinning as though he delighted in being involved in something so clandestine.

“Obliged,” Spike nodded. He still wasn’t sure what the green demon had meant by his soul singing, but he wasn’t about to complain if it meant that Lorne was on his side.

Lorne departed the office, and Wesley busied himself with re-organizing some papers that had been knocked off the desk during the tussle with the Grox’lar Beast.

“Willow?” said Fred when someone picked up the other end of the line. “Hi, it’s Fred. Yeah, hi. How are all the girls? Um… we’ve got some news for Buffy. Is she around? Oh…” Fred covered the mouthpiece with her hand and turned to Spike with a shrug. “She’s there, but she’s not in a great mood. Something about the hot pockets situation.”

Spike snorted. _Must mean Faith an’ Andrew pulled through_. “Think we should warm her up to the idea or just… put me on?”

“Maybe warming her up to it would be smoother.”

“Suit yourself.” Spike wasn’t about to make demands, not when they were already nice enough to go behind Angel’s back for him.

“Still there, Willow?” Fred said into the phone. “See, the reason we called… it’s Spike. He’s here, in Angel’s office. Yes, that Spike. If you could just put Buffy on—”

Then the yelling started, loud enough for Spike’s human ears to hear as Fred suddenly jerked her head away from the phone.

_“Spike died! He gave his life to save us! He’s dead and he’s not coming back!”_

_“Buffy, let me—”_ came Willow’s voice, trying to calm her down.

 _“I guess that whole battle meant nothing to the Powers if the damn First is back!”_ Buffy continued to cry and scream.

“I’m not the First,” Spike said in response to Fred and Wesley’s blank looks, though not loudly enough to be heard over the phone. “First Evil. Tried to open the Hellmouth in Sunnydale. Wasn’t corporeal. I am. You felt me.”

“He’s not the First,” Fred said, but the continued yells on the other side of the line drowned out her words completely.

_“He didn’t believe me! He died not believing me!”_

Vision suddenly blurring with tears, Spike slumped into one of the office chairs, helplessly continuing to listen.

_“I don’t care what hair-brained scheme Angel cooked up to get my attention. Tell him thanks for letting us crash, but as soon as Giles gets things settled with the Council, we’ll be in Europe and out of his hair for good.”_

Then the call ended, hung up on Willow’s end. Fred slowly put the phone down and turned to Spike.

“That… didn’t go well.”

Distraught, he shook his head.

“I… she told me she loved me. And I told h-her… ‘No, you don’t. But thanks for sayin’ it’.” He choked back a sob. “But… I _did_ believe her. Only said that ‘cause I was afraid she wouldn’t leave. Didn’t want her dyin’ there with me.” He glanced from Wesley to Fred in desperation. “Please. I need to see her. Need to tell her I believed her the whole time. Please.”

“Wes?”

From her tone, Spike guessed she was prompting him, as though saying, _I made the call. We’re in this together. Your turn_.

The young former-Watcher set a final stack of folders on Angel’s desk, and only then did he meet Spike’s pleading gaze.

“They’re here. In LA,” said Wesley. “Several of the survivors required medical attention, so they were accommodated at some local hospitals. And the rest… are at the Hyperion Hotel. Our old headquarters.”

_To be continued…_

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: I will do my very best to get this story all written and posted before NaNo, since I’m doing original fiction during that month and it would be cruel (and typical of me, unfortunately) to leave you all hanging. Can’t promise anything, but I will try while the creative juices are flowing.


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